Ice Tea with Mary Lee
by S.C. Little
Summary: Inspired by Garth Brooks' song That Summer and Stephen King's Delores Clayborne. An old friend has been accused of murder, and Captain Jonathan Archer must prove her innocence. But will old secrets become too hard to hide and ruin Archer's career?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The actions of these characters are strictly for the purpose of the story, nothing more. This chapter is Rated T for Teen. Foul language is strictly for character development. Other chapters will be rated differently, but appropriately according to content. 

Summary: Inspired by Garth Brook's song _That _Summer and Stephen King's _Delores Clayborne_. An old friend has been accused of murder, and Captain Jonathan Archer must prove her innocence. But will old secrets become too hard to hide and ruin the good Captain's career?

Author's Note: My thanks to Ladyhawke Legend for her wonderful encouragement with this story and for proof reading this thing. Whatever mistakes are the writer's fault not the editor's.

**Ice Tea with Mary Lee**

By S.C. Little

Behind These Prison Bars Chapter One

Nashville Penitentiary: January 2, 2153, Laundry Unit 51b

"Shit! Who the hell put these in here?! How many times do we have to go over this? Put the bloody shit in the gray bin, not over here!" Nell had had it. This was the third time she had to tell the girls not to put any bloody towels or underwear in her sock pile. Socks were her job. It was the easiest job, and she got it because she had been there the longest. "Queen of Socks" many of her fellow convicts called her, only when she wasn't around of course. The name fit her well, because she practically ran the prison.

It wasn't just her gruff personality or her ruthless demeanor. It was because she stood six foot two and weighed about two hundred sixty-five pounds. She was known to beat the crap out of any of the guards that looked at her funny. She was literally the biggest bitch you'd ever met. And she was Mary's roommate.

Mary Lee has been in the Nashville Women's Institution for four years. Her incarceration was to be for six years for attempted man slaughter. She was given the word that, because of good behavior, her time here was just about up. In three days she would be free. Free. That word seemed too perfect, too beautiful, too sweet to hear, much less say, without getting her a little choked up.

When she first found out about it, she kept it to herself. It was her own little secret. She hadn't had anything that truly belonged to her that couldn't be taken away in a long time. She would tell Nell today.

"Somebody had better spill it. Who's the shithead that put these in here?!" Mary knew who it was and she believed Nell did too. This was a test. Nell was a bitch, but she was not an evil or mean person. She was an educator, her curriculum - How to be a Hard Ass, by The Queen of Socks. She taught the "New Fish" how to survive in prison. Many of her pupils failed. Mary wondered if this one would.

The horn sounded, time for Lunch. Mary smiled to herself, "Saved by the bell, ay kid." She looked at a skinny red headed girl that looked like a Chihuahua she use to know. The poor kid had just been here a week and was already in trouble with the wrong people.

"Alright, everyone lineup," one of the guards yelled.

As they all fell in, Mary noticed a wet spot on the red head's backside. She had pissed herself, probably because the horn startled her and because of all the yellin' Nell was doing. Mary couldn't blame her.

'Three more days of this,' Mary thought. Even though she had only spent four years behind bars, she had earned more respect behind them than in civilized society. Maybe because of her age. She would be sixty this year and that made her one of the elders in the prison. Sixty wasn't that old, but in prison everything was different. There were two types of season veteran prisoners: the Legends and the Crazies. The legends were those who were serving double life sentences or more. Crazies were those that entered the prison when they were very young, and prison life was the only life they knew. They became institutionalized. When their time was up and they had to reenter society, they can't handle it. So then they would do something to be put back in. Mary considered herself neither of these. She had a farm to get back too.

The heat of the cafeteria and the stench of overcooked vegetables knocked her back to reality. "Back to the land of the living," her mother use to say.

As she went through the lunch line and trays were being sloped with watery mash potatoes and limp yellow broccoli, she heard a few of the ladies arguing over the T.V. There was one television in the entire cafeteria and there had been more fights over which channel to turn it than it was worth.

"I'm not watchin' the damn news channel," one prisoner said.

"Well, maybe you should. Who knows, you might learn something," another one said.

"Sit down and shut the hell up, or you won't have anything to watch it with!" That came from Brooks. If Nell was Queen Bee, she was Princess Bee. In fact, she looked like one. Honey skinned with short black hair and a figure mint to be on a Playboy Calendar. It would be foolish to judge this filly on her physique, however, because she was hard as nails and probably more ruthless than Nell herself. But to Mary Lee both of these women had become her family. Today was the day she would have to tell both of them she was getting out.

On the television, the newscasters had just finished with sports and had started talking about the Enterprise NX-01 and her crew.

"Sshh, hey, everybody shut up!" Mary exclaimed. She had been reading anything she could get her hands on about the Enterprise and her crew, especially the famous Captain Archer. She had known that man for over twenty-five years. When they showed his picture on the screen, the entire cafeteria went into heat. Cat calls and "Oh babies" could be heard for miles. Reminded her of how the girls down the road use to sneak on her property and go in the barn, where he spent most of the time working, and flirt like crazy. When she decided he'd probably had enough she go and runem' off.

Sitting in between Nell and Brooks it was hard to keep a straight face. Even the hard asses were hootin' and hollerin', like they'd never seen a man before. It was a weird feeling to have known someone since they were practically a child, and then see everyone else react as though they were a movie star. For Mary, she couldn't see the Captain Archer like everyone else. She still saw the sad eyed boy that dreamt about the death of his daddy. The same boy that didn't have to shave but once a month. The same kid that drank chocolate milk while eating pizza.

With those memories came much less pleasant ones. She had made many mistakes in all her fifty nine years, but that one July Fourth, she made the biggest mistake of all.

_It was hot as hell that summer and that July Fourth was the worst. She remembered how that old cotton dress stuck to the skin of her back and sides. She remembered how the grass tickled her feet, and how the sweat gathered under her bottom lip, under her breasts, and in between her fingers and toes._

_She remembered how he looked working in that old barn, fixin' that damn door, the one that Wild Montana kicked in. Sweat poured off that deep tanned skin, like rain. Well-muscled for a boy his age. He was perhaps the most beautiful boy she had ever laid eyes on. She remembered how soft that honey, velvet hair felt, when she ran her fingers through it._

Bam! Nell had used her knee and bumped the table bottom. "Mary! Snap out of it, woman!"

"Sorry." Mary said, feeling a little uneasy now.

"You've been actin' strange all morning. What's up, you gettin' senile or something? This ain't a good place for that." Brooks pestered her.

Mary took a deep breath. "No, no. I'm fine. It's just that... I'm getting out of here."

Nell started to cackle. "What! You jump'en the fence?!"

"Hell no, not without a horse!" She smiled at her own words. "No. They said I'm getting out. Good behavior. I'm here for three more days." She took a sip of her water.

"Damn. Well, we're gonna to miss ya. What're you gona do when you get out of here?" Nell asked. Brooks was quiet.

"I got a farm waitin' on me. Probably gone to seed, but still it's mine. The day I walk out that door I'm gonna fix a great big pitcher of ice tea and sit on my porch. I don't give a damn if I freeze my ass off. It's what I've been dreaming about doing for four years."

Nell smiled. "That sounds real nice."

Brooks made a scoffing noise through her nose. "Nice, shit. Nice for an old woman, maybe, but not me. When I get out of here, I'm gonna get me a shuttle and fly straight over to San Francisco, go straight to that... ah... what ever it's called, the 602 Club, find the biggest officer there, and have it off with him."

Nell hated it when people interrupted her, and Mary hated being called old. Nell spoke first. "Did anybody ask you?! No, I don't think so. And if you call her old one more time, we're gonna see how far you can fly."

Brooks was quiet for the rest of the day.

-Two and a half days later-

As Mary left the gate she looked back to see Nell and Brooks. There they stood together, Brooks serving three more years and Nell two life sentences back to back. This would probably be the last time she would see Nell, but she didn't doubt this would be a goodbye for Brooks. She held out her brown hand in a salute and they did the same. She whispered, "Till we meet again, old friends." She turned and walked away. She wouldn't let them see her cry. That was never their way.

The weather was cold, but at least it wasn't snowing. She had to walk ten miles to get to her home. She didn't have the money for a shuttle or would want to waist it. She never minded walking. In fact, walking that road just reinforced the reality of her freedom. She could go where ever she wanted now.

When she finally got to the farm she knew she was right about how it would have gone to seed. Ivy was growing right up the house and so was the honeysuckle. The paint was chipped so badly and dirty as anything. It looked soot gray. That didn't matter today. She opened the door and in went to her sink. She turned the faucet on expecting nothing to come out of it. But water flowed clean and clear. She turned the lights on and everything worked. Then she saw the note on the fridge. It was from Mr. Isaac Hodges, an old friend.

It read: "Dear Mary, Don't worry about a thing. I had both the electric and water turned on Sunday. Phone will be out until next week. They've been having trouble with the line. Sorry for the inconvenience. Looking forward to seeing you. I'll be over tomorrow and help you fix up the place. I had Mrs. Keet fix you some supper. It's in the fridge. Have a good night, Isaac Hodges.

"Sweet man," Mary commented softly after reading the note. She turned and filled a pot of water and set it on the stove and turned the burner on high. While she waited for the pot to come to a boil, she climbed up on a chair to get her cookie jar down from the fridge. That was where she kept her tea.

She did what she said she would. She wrapped herself in an old quilt, the one her grandmother made, and sat out on the porch with a glass of ice tea. This was her heaven, her home. Nothin' could take her away from here again. Not a damn thing, so help her God.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: On Chapter One. Rated PG13.

**Ice Tea with Mary Lee**

By S.C. Little

Edited By Ladyhawke Legend

Waking Up in Hell Chapter Two

Willow Grove: Nashville, TN January 1, 2156

Mary remembered she had to secure the barn before the storm hit, but why was she on the dirty barn floor. Fighting against the ache in her temple and the feeling of nausea she got when she sat up, she could only make out a swinging lantern and dark shadows dancing around her on the floor.

She had been unconscious, but she didn't know for how long or why. Was it a fallen beam? She didn't think so. She saw that she had somehow left the barn door open and that it was now growing into the early morning hours. The smoky blue color of the sky outside was what informed her of the passage of time. Why did she leave the barn door open? Did she miss the storm?

As she began to gather her wits about her, she noticed dark splotches on her nightgown and gray overcoat. But it wasn't just on her; it was everywhere: on the wooden stall in front of her, on the post closest to her, and on the floor. An old-fashioned ax, just like the one she used to chop wood for the old fireplaces in her bedroom and living room with, was lying by her leg. The entire blade of the ax was soaked in the dark stuff that stained her clothing, but the wooden handle was as clean as a whistle. She picked it up by the handle and examined the blade.

With closer inspection she discovered that the dark substance was congealed blood. Mary began to tremble. "Oh God. Oh dear Jesus, please, let this be a dream." Dropping the bloody ax, she rolled over onto her knees and crawled across the dirty, blood splattered barn floor. She followed the splotches, watching them become bigger and broader.

"Dear God, let it be an animal. Please, please, please!" she cried. Tears flowed from her eyes like overflowing streams. She didn't notice the splinters of split wood, long forgotten, when they entered the flesh of her palms and knees as she crawled across the floor.

The splotches led straight to a closed stall door. Unlike most stall doors, hers were designed to be closer to the floor. She'd have to kneel really low to peak under it, and under the current circumstances she decided against it. She pushed the door inward instead and crawled inside. There lay the body of a small man. She crawled over to him to see if he was still breathing, but from the looks of all the spilt blood, she seriously doubted it. Unfortunately, all her effort was in vain. This man must be dead. He was missing his head and a few other body parts.

She screamed and wailed as she gathered his lifeless bones into her arms and rocked him gently. She knew who it was. Jack Keet, the simple-minded fellow who helped her with the horses for a few weeks out of the year. Now there were no more ponies and there was no more Jack Keet.

Another series of cries pierced the darkness of the early morning hours spooking the ponies in the neighboring fields. They were cries of sorrow, but there was also a soft cry of pure glee. In the dark, a few miles away, a figure smiles and said, "Get'ya got'cha, girly girl."

-3:00PM. In the house of Mary Lee-

An attractive, older woman in her nightgown and overcoat that was drenched in dried blood sat on her couch next to a man that could be in his seventies with red and gray, thinning hair. He was wearing dark brown pants and a camel colored sweater over a white callared shirt. Mary and Isaac sat opposite to a man in a chair, holding a data pad, and wearing what looked like his Sunday best.

"For the hundredth time, I found him in the stall. What part of that don't you understand?" Mary was exhausted. The police had been there since five-thirty in the morning. And the asshole investigator had been askin' the same questions over and over again.

"Because, Ms. Lee, I find it awfully strange that the murder weapon has your fingerprints all over it, and you were the only one at the scene of the crime," the investigator replied in a rather irritated and frustrated tone. "Now doesn't that strike you just a tad bit peculiar?"

"Sir, Mary has used that ax many times. Of course it would have her fingerprints on it; she chops her own wood," Isaac Hodges said coming to her defense. Mr. Hodges was a dear, old friend of Mary's. As soon as the authorities were contacted, she'd called him. It also didn't hurt that he was a retired lawyer.

The sleazy investigator grinned and said, "Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Hodges, the only fingerprints found on that ax belong to Ms. Lee. There are a few more things I'd like to cover than just the ax, however."

Mary nodded in agreement that he should go on with his questions. "Well, there were a few things that were a mess. There was an turned over chair, a busted door handle, a broken stall door, three hay bells knocked over, and a few very interesting, open journals scattered around." The investigator looked up from his data pad. "Is your barn kept that way normally, Ms. Lee?"

Mary wasn't just annoyed with the investigator now; she was down right pissed at him. She understood that the cops and whoever needed to examine the crime scene, but she was a very private person and there were certain things she wished would be left alone. She also hated that he was implying that she was a thoughtless housekeeper. "What journals?"

"Oh, I think you know about those, Ms. Lee. And in fact, I believe they'll be quite vital to our investigation, don't you?" The investigator sat on the edge of his chair leering at her.

Mary smiled and gritted her teeth, "Well sir, if you think a few journals would help you solve this case, then by all means take them, I have a grocery list on the fridge. Would you like to take that too?"

The investigator smiled vindictively, "No need. But I'm going to have to confiscate those clothes you're wearing. Please go with Officer Clay into the other room and remove them. He'll bring them back."

Each sentence this man spoke aggravated Mary even more. He had already decided that she was the killer, and he didn't seem that interested in giving her the benefit of a doubt. She knew that he knew she had a criminal record. "I'll go change, but without your policeman. I am sixty-three years old, sir. I'm fully capable of dressing and undressing myself," Mary said in her most stern voice.

The investigator had not stopped smiling, "That, Ms. Lee, is not an option."

The bastard didn't care if this embarrassed her or was so demeaning that she could feel tears sting her eyes. He didn't need to care, because in his eyes she was the cold blooded murderer that the rest of Willow Grove believed she was. Bloody Mary was whispered whenever she was at the supermarket, in town, or even at church. Children cruelly sang it as they skipped rope or played hopscotch. But if undressing in front of a complete stranger would make this bastard go away, she would do it.

After she went into the bathroom with the policeman in tow and peeled that old, bloody nightgown off and old, gray overcoat, she wrapped herself in her bathrobe that was hanging in the towel closet. At least the policeman with her was gentleman enough to turn around while she undressed. She went back into the living room and gave the soiled clothes to the investigator. "Is that all?" she asked in her most angered and hurt voice?

He took the garments and put them in a long, metal container and handed it to the policeman, who took it and went outside leaving Mary and Isaac with the investigator. He clicked his pen, closed his data pad, and stood up from the chair. "I suggest, Ms. Lee, that you don't leave the state." He made his way to the door. He turned back around to face Mary and Mr. Hodges, who were sitting on the couch. "We'll talk again." And then he was gone.

As they heard a few of the cops leaving in the shuttle crafts, Isaac spoke first in his gentle grandfatherly voice. "Mary, everything's going to be okay. They'll catch the dog that did this. Don't you fret now." He patted her hand.

"Did they call Mrs. Keet and try to tell her what happened, why her son won't be home for breakfast?" Mary asked.

"They did, and I went with them, but you know her. She still doesn't understand that George won't be coming home either," Isaac told her. George was Mrs. Millie Keet's husband, and he had been dead for sixteen years. After a few of her strokes, she had lost all sense of time and reality. In her mind, all was right with the world and it would never change. "She told me not to worry about Jack, that he'd probably gone for a walk with his dad, and that they'd be back for supper. She sends her love."

"I can't believe this is happening again." The whole situation gave Mary the feeling of deja vu. Her husband was killed this way and she had been the main suspect, but they never could prove it since they could never find the head. She shrugged Isaac off and stood up and walked to the kitchen. "You know they're gonna crucify me." She looked out the screen door where she could see her clothes line and a few neglected towels flying in the icy wind outside. "It's just a matter of time."

"No they won't. I won't let that happen," Isaac said, always the optimist.

"Isaac, I've already been to jail once for another crime. And this is not the first time this kind of murder has happened around me. They are going to look at this and put me away for life. Now stop being foolish, you know we can't win. Somebody has set me up big time." She walked across the kitchen to go to the bathroom and wash up. Even though she had given the investigator the bloody clothing, she still had some of it on her and needed to get cleaned up. "I need to take a bath. I don't mean to be a poor host, but please close the door when you leave."

"Mary, I have an idea, and I need you to keep an open mind about it," Isaac said sternly.

Mary turned around and crossed her arms, "How open?"

"We both have a few friends in high places," Isaac said meaningfully.

Mary looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. What did he mean by that? Then it dawned on her. "Isaac, no. Absolutely not."

"Mary, please, he could help us, if you would just stand still and let me explain," he pled.

"What do you have in mind?! Call him so he can get some big shot lawyer and save the day? I've been in jail already, Isaac, and a suspect in my husband's murder. They'll laugh right in his face and his reputation would be as good as shit." Isaac flinched at the last word she said. He never did care for profanity.

"Mary, if I don't call him and tell him what has happened and let you be sent up river, he would never forgive me." He replied.

"And I will never forgive you if you get him involved!" Her face was hot with anger. She stepped closer to Isaac to let him know she meant business. "I don't want his good name sullied by mine. Do you hear me?!"

Isaac's voice was soft and quiet. "Yes, Mary, I hear you."

She turned away saying, "I'm going to take my bath now. Close the door when you leave."

As she soaked in her big tub, she knew Isaac would call Jonny. It was the only card they had left to play. But would it be worth it? Could he come in on a white horse and save the day? In her heart she thought not.

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Ice pelted the window as Mary slept. Frigid wind roared over the roof, creating dreams too familiar to have just come from inner fantasies, but from the memories of the sins she had committed in her yesteryears.

She was walking to the barn when soft, sweet humming grabbed her attention. She stopped and listened again. It was a tenor, a young man's voice. Jonny. She ran to the open barn door to see if it was really him.

And like magic there he was on his knees, an old-fashioned screw driver in one hand, and a new hinge in the other. He was trying to fix one of the stall doors. Wearing loose jeans and a torn, red, plaid shirt, now tied around his waste, he was a nice sight. Sweat dripped off his naked back. His hair was a little long, just touching his neck. It was a sandy brown color that turned dark at the nap of his neck because of his sweating. He was such a handsome boy. Clear skinned, well-muscled, and he had the most breathtakingly beautiful green eyes she had ever seen a man have. Bedroom eyes.

But someone else was in the old barn, too. He wasn't alone. She looked to her right and there stood an African-American woman, in her thirties, dressed in an old, powder blue, summer dress, barefoot, and holding a glass of ice tea. It was her, just younger. She would now admit that she had been a beautiful woman. She had long, crow's wing black hair that sported a French braid, and big doe eyes and milk chocolate skin.

Mary stood still. This was a memory. Her younger self and Jonny couldn't see her.

She noticed how beautiful everything looked lit by a few lanterns. 'Golden,' she thought. She saw her younger self walk closer to the boy and heard her younger self ask, "Hey, Sugar, thirsty?"

Jonny looked up from his task, startled. He stood, smiled, and said, "Yes, ma'am," like he always did. 'Such a polite boy,' Mary thought. Then the woman handed him her glass of ice tea, and Mary noticed how much his hands shook. He took the glass and drank deep, but he spilled some down his chin and neck.

Looking a little embarrassed at himself, he pulled the glass away from his mouth and brought up a hand to wipe the sugary drops away. She grabbed it to still him from that task and brought her face close to his. She spoke softly to him, "Me, too." She then slid her tongue up his chin to his lips, licking him lightly and seductively.

Mary watched how his eyes closed and how he visibly shivered at her touch. Then she heard her younger self quietly comment, "Mmmm, sweet."

She abruptly awoke. Her breath was coming fast. It hadn't been a bad dream, certainly not a nightmare to fret over, but it was still very unsettling. "But if it wasn't a dream..." she commented quietly, as if someone could hear her secrets, thoughts, dreams, and words.

She jumped out of her bed and ran downstairs. "What if they can? Oh God, please no." She prayed more to herself than to her creator. Hopping off the last step, she swung open the front door and dashed outside towards the barn, completely ignoring the weather.

The barn door was closed, and there was no way to get inside. The police had taken precautions. It was protected by a force field, not allowing anything to contaminate the crime scene. They'd informed her that they would take it down in a few days though. But now there was no way to enter the barn. They'd made sure of that.

Mary feeling completely helpless sank to her knees. She couldn't fix the stall door and Jonny would come back. She illogically tried to convince herself that if she could have just fixed that door that would keep Jonny away. This only meant that she wouldn't be the only one to be thrown to the lions. She wasn't being melodramatic either. She had been around for a long time and she knew people. As soon as his ship docked and entered her life once more to prove her innocence, he would be ridiculed for defending the murderous whore of Willow Grove.

Perhaps God would be merciful. She didn't think she could bear Jonny's good name to be soiled because of her.

TBC

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Author's Note

My thanks to Ladyhawke Legend for editing this story. And also the reviewers who have read it and gave me there oppenion. Also, if you are wondering about my review on my own story, I'm really not patting myself on the back. That review belongs to Ladyhawke Legend after reading one of her chapters of one of her latetes stories. It's a long story and not worth telling the whole thing. So, I'll shut up now.


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